


Sabbatical

by betterrecieved



Category: Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:45:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betterrecieved/pseuds/betterrecieved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>diegolopezrodriguez prompted Agron laying down his strength and letting Nasir top once in a while.</p>
<p>Angsty porn.  Nagron on stay-cation.  Top!Nasir.  Agron topping from the bottom. Also lol balls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sabbatical

**Author's Note:**

> Imma just assume enuf time went by between The Dead and the Dying and Victory for Agron’s hand and torso wounds to close and for him to do some light General-ing around the camp before Victory.

Bowl of food goes arcing through the air before Agron can take back his hand or his frustration, but not before Agron catches glint of angry tears in Nasir’s eyes as he storms away to their tent.

Spartacus rests hand upon Agron’s shoulder before he can follow Nasir. “You must take rest for the remainder of this day, Agron. And the next as well." 

 "I am not invalid, and I require no respite from already much-lightened duties!"  Agron bristles. 

"Nor aid in grasping dropped spoon." Spartacus’ eyes hold mild reproach. 

Agron’s shoulders sag. “My anger is not at Nasir.  It is my own two hands that betray me."

"Nasir has not rested since you were returned to him," Spartacus muses.

Agron is stabbed through with pain worse than spear when he recalls how Nasir refused to leave his side until he no longer required shoulder to lean upon. 

"I relieve you both of duty for his sake, Agron."

Agron nods, kicking at mess of stew upon ground.

*

"I am not angry with you," Nasir says over-brightly.  He will not look Agron in his face, but moves around tent rearranging already orderly possessions by some new indiscernible pattern.   “Do your hands pain you?  No, I did not intend to ask you that.  No, I meant only…"

But Agron knows, he knows.  “Apologies.  Apologies." With his arm he pulls Nasir down into his lap, chants his regret over and over while Nasir’s mouth quivers. 

Then there are no words, only Nasir’s lips pressing against his, searching, questioning, and Agron takes Nasir slow and patient, Nasir opening up to him like roiling clouds thinning out after sudden rain.

*

Feeling of incompleteness, of phantom limb itch startles Agron awake at dawn. 

His arms are empty, and for a moment he does not recall where he is.  He lifts his head, his heart pounding, and there is where he wants to be, needs to be, there is Nasir, standing by tent flap, peering out.  “Nasir, it is not yet fully light.  Lie down upon bed with me and rest."

"I was to oversee morning rations," Nasir explains, slipping under sheet to press against Agron’s side.  “Supplies are low.  And I must set your portion aside along with Spartacus’."

"He is your man also?" Agron asks through a yawn.  He cannot help but laugh when Nasir  blushes like garden of pink roses in full violent summer bloom.

"Return to fucking slumber, Agron," Nasir hisses.

*

Cheerful refugee woman appears in their tent bearing morning meal, confides that she is being rewarded with double rations for this and other tasks.  She cannot bear to be parted from Nasir, and Agron holds real fear that she will never take leave once she has begun gossiping, but Nasir manages to smoothly evict her from tent with broad smile still painted across her features. 

"You know her well?" Agron asks.

Nasir shrugs.  “I have never spoken to her before this day."  He looks at Agron’s hands, then away.  “I was to have started training recruits at this hour."

"I was to have gone over weapon inventory and assisted in assigning duties to fighters.  Come, you must examine my hands, Nasir."

When Nasir takes Agron’s hands in his and kisses them, knuckle by knuckle, palm-line by palm-line, Agron thinks that his eager little medicus is also his worst symptom; he may well die of how much he loves Nasir.

*

Agron accepts unexpected gift of wine with hearty thump to Gannicus’ shoulder that sends the man stumbling away from opening of tent.

By Nasir’s second cup of wine, he is on his back, giggling, smiling up at Agron from tangled bed where they have kissed and sucked and stroked and lazed all last night, all this day, stopping only long enough for Nasir to wrap himself within sheet and engage with talkative bearer of meals.

"Would that every day were like this one," Nasir sighs. He is on his knees upon bed, his front pressed to Agron’s back, arms carefully wrapped around Agron’s torso. 

 "Apologies," Agron says.  He does not know what he is apologizing for:

This recent past, leaving his heart’s ease to droop with neglect (First thing he felt after the cross was Nasir’s presence, first thing he saw was Nasir’s face, and Nasir’s face was nothing like when Agron caught him stealing look after curious look at Castus, Nasir’s breath catching on tears whenever he looked at Agron’s ravaged hands.  Boyish infatuation mistaken for love, and still, would Agron have sent him away had he known?)?

The past beyond even that, rife with accusations?  The future that he debates and debases himself over (Blood and battle: all he has ever known.  He is going to kill Nasir, he is going to love him to death after all.  And this is yet another thing Agron understands without words.   And this is also source of confusion: will he die to avenge Duro and Nasir, will he live to comfort them?  One half of him is all heart, one half is snarling killing beast, and all of him is for them.)  while Nasir lies limp and warm against him, moaning “Agron!" in his slumber? 

After Nasir drains his fourth cup of wine he falls across Agron’s lap, his hair pooling thick over Agron’s thigh.  He stares up with huge glowing eyes and huskily says, “Agron.  Let me fuck you.  Let me care for you."

Agron drains remainder of amphora.  He can say No, and Nasir will only blink and look away.   He can say Yes, and lay it all down, cease this war within himself, climb over mountains with useless hands and light heart. 

His throat is tight as he nods. 

*

Nasir is not his first, definitely not his biggest, but he is his best.   Before he even starts he is Agron’s best.

"I must see your face," Nasir tells him, when Agron gestures at bed as if to ask: How will you take me?  “I cannot - I must see your _face_ , Agron."

Agron has not done this since his youth but his body recalls it for him, and he lifts his ass for Nasir to lay pillows under him, stares down at Nasir on his knees, staring down at Agron’s ass. 

Everything about this Fucking Nasir is deft and fluid, not boneless and liquid like Agron Fucking Nasir.

Nasir’s big oil-slick hands stroke Agron’s inner thighs, knowingly, expertly. 

"Your cock is so big," Nasir says dreamily.  “How do I take such a cock?  You go so slowly with me, Agron.  Except when you do not. Do you enjoy making me hurt and scratch and cry?  Yes, we both enjoy it. "

When he fucks Nasir, Nasir can speak only in gasps incoherent and breathless.  Now Nasir speaks for them both, and Agron can only nod and writhe beneath him.

”..My cock will have to do…"

Nasir’s cock will more than do.  “Nasir," Agron sighs.  Agron reaches out to pull Nasir close, but his fingertips only graze hardened nipples as Nasir pulls away.  

"You must let me - if you hold me you will soon be fucking _me_."

Agron groans as one slippery hand lazily massages his balls, then moves up to grip his cock and gently stroke.  A finger pushes into his ass, and Agron pushes back, and in it pops, finding his prostate and stroking, retreating and then two fingers stroking, then three, and Agron feels it all again, the odd backward pressure and the strange stretch and wants more of _Nasir_ . 

Above him, Nasir leans forward with dazed expression, priming his cock with more oil, mouthing Agron’s name.

"Speak to me, Nasir."

“ _Agron_ ," Nasir breathes, as if in explanation.

Agron spreads his legs wider, holds his knees aloft with his elbows.

When Nasir pushes in, Agron bears down, and the stretch becomes the burn, the pleasant pressure becomes tinged with unpleasant.  “Do not fucking stop," Agron pants out, wincing as Nasir surges into him like the tide, deeper with every wave.

Nasir stares agape, breathing hard, hands grasping Agron’s thighs.  Then his slim hips pull back smoothly and there is no accounting for anything, Agron will never recall this moment except as pure sensational in and out and full and fucked and the warmth of Nasir’s breath huffing into his face and. 

Agron’s thighs around Nasir’s hips, heels planted on Nasir’s ass, pushing him forward, stilling his hips, keeping him planted deep inside.  Nasir whining and shuddering, Agron moaning Nasir, Nasir, Nasir like prayer to gods of Germania and.

Nasir’s climax, held back to make way for Agron’s bellowing, splattering orgasm, and so sudden that his piercing wail quiets entire camp for several seconds and.

Nasir holding Agron afterward.  Agron holding Nasir and Nasir’s fluids running sticky down insides of Agron’s thighs and.

Steaming bowls of stew atop trunk beside them.

*

During late evening, Agron watches Nasir bending over trunk and pushes him to his hands and knees upon dirt floor,  fucks him hard enough that Nasir is screaming. 

In calm oppressive quiet at dead center of night Agron awakens, crushing Nasir to himself. 

Nasir mutters and sighs in confusion, but Agron kisses him awake, then fucks him with desperation he cannot give voice to, not now when Nasir gazes at him so trustingly, has already spoken so assuredly of future.

Afterward Nasir laughs against Agron’s chest.   “Agron, you need not worry about woman; they will not  believe her.  They will scoff at her and say, ‘What a man Agron is!  He fucked his boy three times just today!’ "

Agron forces out guilty laugh, grateful that his intent has been mistaken, but Nasir is already snoring.

*

In coming days when Nasir is not training fighters he is secretive, quiet, watchful.  Always hiding something in their tent, always smiling to himself.

Always ready to remind Agron, to remind anyone who dares question simple truth: Agron remains a warrior.

*

When Agron says, “They have taken all from me." he does not mean…He does not know what he means.  He does not know what he is anymore.

He can only nod when Spartacus commands him: “You will yet serve purpose in coming battle. By seeing those who cannot fight to the mountains.  Turn to task for Nasir.  And prepare for journey." 

*

He cannot go.  Nasir has healed him after all. 

Nasir looks up at him, stunned with outcome of his own making, insane with love, petrified with fear, and still Nasir is always saying Yes to Agron. 

Always.

And Agron knows, he _knows_.


End file.
